


Got A Problem

by scribeklio



Series: Lacking Rituals- Modern Inquisition AU [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Addiction Talk, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Companion Trevelyan, F/M, Lyrium Addiction, Modern Inquisition AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 07:22:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5958667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribeklio/pseuds/scribeklio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady Trevelyan has hopes for starting a detox program among the Inquistion's Templars- old predjudices however still stand in the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Got A Problem

Nerves have her wiping her palms against the pencil skirt she’s regretting. It’s the largest responsibility she’s ever had- lives in her hands, people, a far cry from rare books. That isn’t the point of today though; this program is about convincing them to risk their lives in the first place. “Highly experimental medical detoxification” says the little pamphlet they’ve thrown together. The rest of the pages are barely filled, the data they’ve gathered so far hardly a sizable sample; almost a dozen and that’s all she has to bank for.

It’s sending them to their deaths, the same death, only sooner; and how can a person balance that, judge living now against future anguish? What a horrible apostate she is, not fully understanding the price of freedom.

What if they do die? Her mind has been whispering that question since this began. A question that hasn’t yet been tested or answered, but she knows she may never forgive herself should it.

Livi will consider it a success if they listen to her, but they’re Templars- when have they ever truly listened to a mage? She prays she doesn’t trip over the words, wishing she had the poise of someone use to this. Like Cullen.

_“This isn’t about persuasion; they have to want it.” He closed his mouth for a second, looking off and setting his jaw. When he looked back there was so much conviction in his amber eyes that a bud of pride blossomed within her. “Take care of them the way you took care of me.” He then reached out and squeezed her hand._

Squeezing her own hand against her chest is a poor substitute. A deep breath and the touch of Cullen’s encouragement help her calm down enough to only need her arms crossed in front for protection. It’s silly, her needing a barrier when she can produce one at will, but she’s only human after all.

The door opening almost startles her and Rylen is a welcome first sight. He gives her a friendly nod, and she can almost hear the “lass”, before ushering in her audience. Livi looks down, trying the calm the static that was skittering across her scalp. All she can see until she looks up again is a jumble of khaki ACU pants.

She’s perched on the edge of a lecture platform, elbow not quite leaning on the countertop of the room’s demonstration table. This room is old, though for Skyhold turn of the age styling is recent; bland walls, low ceilings, hardly a castle.

Plastic chairs in muted orange and yellow screech across the linoleum as the soldiers get situated. The ones who pull theirs’ off to the side use the room to spread their legs, perhaps to make space for any chips on their shoulders.

Pursing her lips as she looks up trying to hide behind the dark crimson they’ve been painted. “Bitch queen” she had whispered, joking in front of the mirror, laughing along with her love as they had gotten dressed that morning.

Harsh fluorescents wash out the room and with the looks on their faces it seems like a sad Saturday morning lab at university.

“Good morning Knights. I want to thank you all for coming.” Silence meets her greeting, most likely because their little talk has been made mandatory. It’s thick, the air or something, so she swallows hard. Cullen’s not here of course, doesn’t want to pressure such a highly personal decision, because Maker knows the man doesn’t have to say a word to let his opinion known.

How in the name of Andraste’s Grace do you start something like this? _“Hello would you like to suffer with no guarantee it will make a long term difference?” ___

“How many here have considered leaving the Order?” At least this time the group gives her a murmur and few nervous coughs. None of them are really looking up at her, much less looking at her.

A few clacks of her heels against the warn linoleum and Livi’s moving around the display table reaching out to grab what she hopes will snatch their attention.

For something so dangerous it feels nice, smooth and even warm. Her thumb works over the carving of Andraste, worn smooth from the worry of a young Templar who had seen too much.

“What is this?”

“Standard lyrium kit, ma- ma’am.” A Templar in the front row swallows down the first word, the ease of how the word slips into the other a very small, very good sign.

“What else?” Livi cocks an eyebrow, challenge meted.

Is there anything else too it? Ritual tools for a calling they all feel deep in their chests, like a cord tangled through their ribs.

“Would anyone like to volunteer? Tell me what they were thinking just now?” They weren’t thinking, which is what they’re all thinking about in this moment.

“What if you had the chance to put this aside for good?” The small drama of placing the box back on the counter doesn’t escape her.

Finally getting somewhere and Livi feels quite smart too. Her voice picks up, from the confidence of hope her tender heart can’t shake. What hope she has to give them next will make all the difference. Suddenly her thoughts swing back to all the lives she can save.

“We now know withdrawl need not lead to death; in fact what we have gathered suggests that with the right care almost anyone can overcome dependence.” No reaction, but distrust still prickles in the air. It occurs to Livi that maybe the calm reaction is playing off all the bad feelings they still harbor for the Chantry.

“The Commander.” One of the smaller women, all sharp angles and short hair mutters in a Starkhaven droll, not quite under her breath.

“Yes, exactly, Commander Rutherford and several officers from Kirkwall no longer take their doses. It will not be easy…” Her eyes trail up mid-sentence and thankfully no one notices because she’s summoned him. The man himself, a golden intruder who’s come after all, is silently slipping in at just the right time. Livi knows he was probably watching through the door, waiting for her to grab their full attention first.

She bites her lip before resuming, reality setting in with Cullen’s arrival.

“Honestly it is quite horrible, but experience suggests those who are younger, healthier or still on lower doses recover more quickly.”

Her words could never do justice to exactly how horrible. A healthy man twelve years in service with the last three at high doses- oh how he could crumple. The worst nights she would hold him as he asked her to end his suffering- delirium brought on by a fever she could barely control, yet he still shivered as if they were outside. Slurred Canticles of constant prayer in his bed, both of them soaked through with sweat and maybe urine. 

_When the illness clears they clean, wash off in the bath, the exchange so much more intimate than regular healing. So far their circumstances have pushed her to limits she never thought she could reach much less endure. On the other side she feels stronger and she hopes he does too._

Now’s the time to underscore the safety, nice lull to fill. Livi looks around making eye contact, confident and invigorated at the small signs of success.

“We recently had the fortune of making contact with one of Seeker Pentaghast’s former apprentices. He is also a lyrium sensate and will be assisting us with every individual at every step.”

“And you?” It’s a young knight, though knight seems entirely too good for him.

“Pardon?”

“Why are you up here then?” He points up to nowhere in particular, setting his lower lip with either extreme annoyance or regular anger.

“I spent my healing apprenticeship at Greenfell, making me the most qualified healer currently outside of that Circle. “ She looks down at her hands for a moment noticing that the anxiety now has her picking at a thumb’s cuticle. It’s only a flash of her eyes when she lifts her head, but the gaze is strong, without reservation.

“Prior to my working with Commander Rutherford mind you.” She adds.

“Working.” The bastard snickers, bobbing his head like a taunting school boy.

Livi’s eyes turn sharp; she may not be able to see it, but from the back of the room even Cullen can tell. The green of her irises can so quickly become cold, marble instead of the warm sea he thinks of. He’s seen that other side of Livi, but then again he has seen all her infinite sides, always wanting more.

Biting her lip doesn’t keep her temper from leaping out in a harsh sneer. Most of the younger soldiers are snickering as well as, and fuck it hurts, some of the older Templars she quite respected before.

“And before the rest of you start- yes, I am fucking your Commander, but I assure you I earned my place long before.”

That shuts them up and for a few moments they all mark the lay of land, so to speak. It’s Rylen who moves first with a slight incline of his head towards the Commander, who then takes command.

Cullen unfolds his arms and brings his hand together with a loud smacking clap. It catches all his men, tugs them in a 180 of slighty screeching chairs.

“Knights, I would like to remind you that for all involved, including Lady Trevelyan and her healers, this program is entirely voluntary.” He’s using the father voice and it’s no wonder that some of his men do think of him figuratively as such. As always Cullen has the words to underscore that this project goes so much farther beyond volunteerism for her, for them all.

Dismissed they file out, half herded by Rylen.

Livi doesn’t move an inch until they’re gone, only then stepping forward and grabbing the back of one of the hideous chairs. She bends entirely at the waist, black curls falling forward and Cullen knows she’s halfway to catching her breath. It’s not too bad though because he can tell she’s not crying.

Her face is actually quite still, set in a neutral position, the one where she seems sad.

“I’m so sorry.” She brings her hands up to her face, burying her blush.

“What for?” Cullen laughs, leaning back against the wall, crossing his arms and legs. “They were testing you so you put them in their places, earned their respect.”

“Flying off the handle like that, yeah.” Livi looks up and tucks a curl behind her ear before mirroring Cullen. She isn’t sure why he has his arms crossed, but hers give comfort. His would provide even more she reckons.

“I don’t like getting that angry.” Looking off she sets her jaw, continuing to internally chide herself. She tetters a bit on her high heels as she shifts her weight.

“At least you didn’t start sparking.”

Her eyes snap to him, her lips tighten into a line as she watches him. “That’s not funny Cullen.”

He closes the gap between them to make it better, cupping her jaw to tilt her face up when he meets her. “You are so very important to me... and I will have them know it.”

That’s one of the reasons why she loves him, just there, though they haven't spoken it yet, that look that is making her lip quiver. Her lip quivers as an extension of her chest, the tightness of truth hitting her. The only sensible thing to do is to get even tighter, tucking her head against his chest.

“How the hell do you do this?” She says shaking her head slightly. “I feel like I’m sending them into battle.”

He keeps stroking her hair so she holds on and lets him. “I’d take real demons any day.”

Livi closes her eyes and pulls him closer, savoring the solid weight of his body and the steady pulse of his heartbeat.

**Author's Note:**

> ACUs are what most civilians call fatigues


End file.
